Page 4 of Better Run
What the fuck does he want me for?
I don’t have money. My parents sure as fuck don’t have money.
The longer I sit and think, the more worried I get. I don’t like the reasons I could be here. He said he wouldn’t hurt me but I don’t believe him for a second. He was trying to get me compliant. So I would…do what?
I sit and stare at the wood wall opposite the bed. I stare and stare. Shadows move across my lap. The room is silent. I hear the heat kick on every now and again. I count the headache pulses in my head rhythmically. The counting drowns out the questions.
The room begins to grow dark. I snap out of my stare-down with the wall, and my heart kicks up again. There are still no sounds outside the door. I glance at the water and the bucket. There’s no bathroom.
That arrogant fucker expects me to piss in the bucket.
Rage fills me again. I won’t do it. I’ll piss all over his floor before I piss in that damn bucket.
The room gets fully dark before I grab a water. I examine it all over, looking for tamper marks. It’s fully sealed and nothing comes out when I squeeze. Reluctantly I open it and take a sip. Instantly it cools my mouth and fills me with thirst. I suck it down, not realizing how thirsty I was. I’m going to make it out of this, I decide. I’m going to play whatever game I have to in order to win this.
I wait all night for him to come back in. I fall into fitful sleep sitting straight up, my empty water bottle in my hand like a weapon.
He never does.
CHAPTER FOUR
Him
The plan went off with barely a hitch. I bring a glass of bourbon to my lips and relish the burn as it goes down. I sit on the couch, knowing she won’t get anywhere tonight. I made sure she was secure after I went through all that work to get her here.
My nose still smarts from where she bashed it. It pissed me off when she did it, but it also made me rock hard. The way she fought me…it made me want to sink into her heat. To take what she didn’t want to give. Watching her soft, unconscious form earlier was intoxicating in an infuriating way. I had to leave the room. I wanted to hurt her. Wanted to mark that pretty pale skin.
She must have looked like a drunk college kid when I carried her to the car. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I smirk as I think about how I staged her breakup note with my pictures. The fact that her boyfriend was cheating on her was the icing on the cake. It made her strongly-worded breakup note credible. I couldn’t have created a better situation myself. I took her clothes and makeup and other bullshit and wrote ‘fuck you’ all over the walls in lipstick. That was a risk because of the handwriting, but Kyle only cared about saving face. I told him she didn’t want him to contact her again, or she’d call the cops.
My blood on her sheets was an unexpected hurdle and cost me some time as I had to take those and search her closets to remake her bed.
I glance over my drink. She’s so naive. Didn’t expect anything bad to ever happen to her. Didn’t expect to have to protect her things and phone from people like me. I used her face to unlock her phone and posted a short video on her page with text that she had found an exciting business opportunity, and she couldn’t say much because the company asked her to keep it a secret and she was really busy. I’m proud that I put some inspirational music behind it and even a few of her favorite stickers.
It will buy me a few days before someone reports her missing. And when they do, it’ll take another two days at least to get any kind of search. Cops don’t take missing adults seriously unless they’re addicts, mentally ill, or there’s evidence of foul play. Which there isn’t. I made sure of that. And when they do look, there are no links to me. I turned her phone off and took the SIM card out of it and dropped it in her backyard.
I take another burning sip and smile to myself.
She is mine now. And I’ll make her pay.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mary Jo
I jerk awake. The morning light seeps in through the window. Shit, I must have fallen asleep. My neck is stiff from letting it hang.
I hear a sound by the door. I stiffen and sit up.
The door opens andhecomes in, looking at the bucket, one bottle of water, and then me. We are both silent for a minute, each measuring the other up. He’s in blue jeans today and a black T. It stretches across his chest. Tattoos crawl over both arms.
He walks over to me and goes for my right hand. I back up.
“Give me your hand.” He holds out his impatiently.
I look at the ink that swirls around his wrist.
Every atom wants me to tell him to go fuck himself. But I don’t. I give my hand over like an obedient puppy.
He fishes a key out of his pocket and unlocks my wrist cuff. I rub the sore skin and flex in freedom.
